Wheeling Gull Isle somewhere only we know

a gentle breeze, soothing and inviting, whisked by as it tangle locks of fawn and cotton. she'd been granted permission to join the young advisor in her watching, and the sprite gave a soft swish of her tail in thanks.

she had not been expecting the next words to clash so hard as they did in the autumn air.

she turned to glance towards those ever observing eyes, gold now feeling like the chill of metal than the warmth of a flame.

"there is not much to talk about, truthfully." it was not a lie, her eyes said it so. "my life is not one interesting enough to be recounted." she had no scars to tell tales of, no heartbreak to cry over, no adventures worth sharing.

her life was a book with a pretty cover, everyone picked it up to read only to get halfway though and realize all along that the cover was the best part.